Aftermath
by LanaCane
Summary: Katniss has been back in District 12 for almost three months, hoping that death will take her out of her misery. She spends her days having nightmares about what she's been through; everyone she has lost... She's pretty sure her life will always be this way; Made up of nothing but the daily actions of Greasy Sae and Haymitch. Then something unexpected happens... Peeta is back...
1. No End in Sight

**Hello, readers! This is, sorta, my first fanfiction. I've written a couple short chapters in the past but have never published them. I came across this site not too long ago and I was inspired to post my own entry. I always wanted more story before the Epilogue in The Hunger Games (how did Katniss learn to cope? How did her and Peeta's relationship take off?) but I guess it had to end somewhere. So this is my take on it. I hope you like it! This chapter is pretty short but they will get longer, especially if you readers are interested (reviews!). It starts the day after Peeta comes back home to District 12. Katniss POV. Let me know what you think and I will continue.**

I laid in bed longer than I normally would. Thoughts were swarming around in my head, draining me of any energy that my sporadic sleep had given me. Having confusing thoughts wasn't unusual though. Ever since I returned to 12 thoughts of the past two years had incapacitated me. I didn't know how to function when every move I made reminded me of the horrors I'd witnessed. I lift my arm; I see the long scar Johanna had tore into me. I braid my hair; I'm reminded of Cinna's skillful hands gently twisting it into an elegant style. Which always leads me to thinking more of my mother, then of Prim and my heart feels like it's going to rip even more so than it already had.

I'd never felt more alone than when I returned to my home district. Yes, Haymitch had come with me, as my babysitter of sorts. But he wasn't really living up to whatever expectations the Capitol must have had to put him in charge of looking after me. If I had been in a better mind-set I could have been getting myself into a lot of trouble. Haymitch rarely paid a visit and when he did it was to steal the food Greasy Sae had left for me or scavenge the house for whatever rubbing alcohol I hadn't taken to my mother in District 13 months ago. He wasn't much of a guide in helping me to recover but how could he be? He had never gotten over his experiences in his games so how was he supposed to help me get over my experiences in two games and a blood-drenched uprising?

Haymitch knows what those therapist don't. A simple couch session or a phone call talking about your feelings wasn't going to do any good to erase the visions of the nightmare we've lived through. The best way is to cope in your own way. I guess. So when Haymitch visits and it seems like he's actually there out of the goodness of his heart, to care for me, he just sits with me. I sit in my rocking chair next to the fire in the kitchen and he sits at the table. With a bottle in his hand. When he gets here, he offers me a drink and when I don't reply we just sit there. Hours could go by without a word passing between us, sometimes he falls asleep. But it's the kind of therapy I need right now. I don't need someone telling me they understand or that everything is going to be alright. I know that none of that is true. What I need, if anything, is someone to be there. And despite all of Haymitch's dis-functional qualities, he has been there in his own way. Seeing him reminds me that not everyone I loved died in the horrific war that ruined my life. I'm not totally alone in dealing with my experiences. There are some people that have lived what I have lived threw, done what I have done and have still managed to breath the same air as I do. And one of them happens to be my drunken ex-mentor.

I figured that this was what my life had come to. Blurred visits from Greasy Sae and Haymitch as I sat miserably reliving the deaths of the ones I loved. What was there to look forward to really? So many times I'd tried to give my own life so that others could live but that never happened. Either someone held me back or fate had a different plan. Well, what exactly was fate saving me for? To be the face of the rebellion? Okay, they needed me for that. But there were so many times I could have died during my race through the Capitol and yet I survived. Out of all the people whom died, I survived. For what? I killed Coin, which may have been the plan fate needed me to act out but what now? The people of Panem could have condemned me to death for my actions but instead they sent me back to my home. To die slowly and even more painfully than if they shot me through the heart with my own arrow. Didn't I deserve some peace?

A flicker of peace showed up on the side of my house yesterday afternoon. I still couldn't believe that Peeta was back in District 12. I had already made up in my mind that he wouldn't be coming back. He had lost so much during the uprising; his family and his own character. It made me cringe to think of how much the Hijacking had changed him. The last time I'd seen him, almost three months ago, he was still struggling to control the psychotic episodes. I knew that he might never totally be the same Peeta again. I thought that the Capitol would want to keep him there indefinitely in order to monitor him. I guess I was wrong.

Just seeing him made me feel slightly better. He was alive and well enough that he was able to haul several Primrose bushes across town. The act of him planting the bushes was proof enough that there was still some of the old Peeta inside of him. The old Peeta did things like that out of kindness and the goodness of his heart. Had the doctors in the Capitol found a way to heal him? No, that was impossible.

I probably could have found out all of this information myself but I hadn't stayed outside long enough to talk to him. After staring at him in shock for about three minutes, I had turned around and ran back into the house. A part of me wanted to talk to him about everything and ask him a million questions; give him a big hug and ask him if he was really alright. Another part of me couldn't believe that he was actually back. Was I hallucinating? It wouldn't be the first time. Was the capitol still trying to kill me by sending a hijacked Peeta back to 12? I didn't know, I was so confused. And lately, when things get confusing, I check out. That's why I am here, in my bed. Staring at the ceiling, hoping Greasy Sae doesn't have the strength to make it up the stairs today.


	2. Just Listen

**Sorry that there wasn't any dialogue in the first chapter and it's really only one sided in chapter 2 but I'm trying to make it interesting despite that. You'll see where I'm going with this if you continue to read. Please let me know what you think so far!**

I managed to stay in my bedroom undisturbed for a full day. The day consisted of mostly staring up at the wall which turned out to be quite boring. It was nothing compared to the fire. I found myself yearning to go back to my rocking chair by the fireplace just so I could be slightly entertained. Maybe Cinna was right in naming me the girl on fire. I was definitely attracted to it. The only reason I remained laying, unmoving, on my bed was because I knew if I went down there I would run into Greasy Sae during her food deliveries. Her hip must still be bothering her pretty bad because she hasn't made the effort to come upstairs to check on me. She only managed to call up from the bottom to tell me food was waiting for me on the kitchen table. My stomach didn't even growl at the mention of food. I'd trained myself well.

Eventually, I slept but only because I was completely drained. I found that it was the best way to get some sleep. When my body and mind were exhausted, only then could I sleep peacefully. Without nightmares.

The disturbance that finally came was what woke me from my peaceful slumber. It came in the form of Haymitch who woke me by slapping me on the face. I searched for the knife under my pillow, sure that it was someone trying to harm me before I got my bearings. Haymitch stood on the side of my bed, my knife in his hand, smirking at me.

He placed the knife on my nightstand before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn't have a bottle in his hand, which was very unusual. His eyes even seemed focused, not glazed over with alcohol as they normally were. I wondered what the special occasion was.

"Sorry to wake you," he said in a not so sorry tone.

I glared at him. This was really the first time I'd actually looked at Haymitch in a very long time. He looked older and thinner, like he wasn't fairing in better than I was. His hair was longer and oily like it hadn't been washed in months. I decided not to judge. Mine probably didn't look any better. His skin had taken on a yellow-ish tone that I only assumed came from alcohol being his only form of nutrition.

"Sae tells me you didn't eat at all yesterday," he says.

Is this really what he came to do? To get me to eat something? It almost made me laugh to think that now he wanted to take his babysitter duties seriously.

I let out an exasperated sigh and slid down under my comforter again. Pulling them high over my head. Seconds later, it flew off of me onto the floor. Haymitch stood over me, his eyes angry.

"I'm talking to you," he snapped. "The least you could do is act like you're listening. And I'd actually appreciate it, if you talked back."

Looking at him, I could tell he was weighing his options. Yelling at me wasn't going to get him anywhere. Hell, I was already half off the bed, ready to bolt to the next room if I needed to. I was in no mood to deal with semi-drunk Haymitch and his bipolar fits.

He calmed himself down and resumed his seat. "Look, sweetheart, I didn't come over here to yell at you. Frankly, I don't have the energy for it," he mumbled. "I haven't had a drink all morning."

I managed to roll my eyes.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looked me square in the eye. "I've been fine with you not talking. Honestly, I needed a vacation from hearing your voice. But enough's enough. You haven't gone hunting since you been back, you haven't left this house and you haven't even showered for goodness-sake! I'm tired of watching you waste away in here. It's like you're waiting for death to take you."

I avert my eyes because I know they will admit my guilt to doing that exact thing. It seems that averting my gaze has done just that though. Haymitch continues, his face falls into a miserable expression. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he felt bad for me. "Katniss, I know I'm not the best person to tell you this but I can't sit by and watch you do what I've done to my self for over twenty years. I run away from my problems by drinking. It's the easiest solution I could find. I never moved on from what happened to me. I just tried and am still trying to erase my feelings and memories with booze. And doesn't work. Not at all. But it's a little too late now to have that revelation because I love the stuff. And I'm old man. I don't have anything left in life to look forward to. Why not drink?"

I slowly lifted my gaze from my tangled bed sheets and met his eyes.

Haymitch still wore a soft expression as he said, "But you, you have the world at your hands and your future ahead you."

A strange sound came from the back of my throat. A choking sound that sounded partially like a sob. I didn't want to cry in front of Haymitch but I really felt the need to. But I held it back. I'd trained myself well. If I cried, that meant I would have to tear down all of the emotional walls I'd built inside of me. And if I tore them down, who knew how long I would cry? Or how much pent up emotion would come spilling out in-between sobs. I'd probably never stop.

I didn't want to tell Haymitch that I had no desire to live anymore; that each day I woke up, I felt guilty about being the person fate decided should live on. There were so many other people more worthy. Prim, who wanted to be a doctor and help people. Rue, who had so many younger siblings who relied on her. But no, they are dead and I get to live. And what do I do now that I have my whole life ahead of me, free from the danger of evil ex-President Snow? I choose to wallow in my misery everyday, hoping one day the fates will realize they made the wrong choice.

I wish I could move on and learn to deal with the nightmares and hallucinations but I just can't. The mere thought of talking about any of the events that were the cause of my current mental state, frightens me. I don't want to relive any of it ever again. I just want to forget it. So, I will wait until my mind goes completely blank or death comes knocking at my door, which ever comes first. Only then can I have peace.

Haymitch has watched me the entire time while I had my silent breakdown. He hasn't said a word but just stares at me, shaking his head. Finally, he says, "Peeta's back, you know?"

My head whips up in surprise and I'm staring at him again, my eyes wide in shock.

"I almost didn't believe it myself when he came knocking on my door," he stammers. "That's why I'm kinda sober now. I told him I wouldn't believe it was really him until the alcohol wore off a little. So, he stayed and we talked about a lot of things. It was almost like..."

He stops mid-sentence and a small smile creeps on to his face. "I tell ya, sweetheart, you should really go see him. I'm sure it'll make you feel a hell of a lot better than laying in this bed does."

Haymitch stands and stretches. I'm still trying to comprehend the fact that Peeta is really back. It wasn't an hallucination.

"Well, I asked you to talk to me and you haven't uttered a word so this is what I'm going to leave you with," he says. His eyes have that scary look in them again. He points to the bathroom door in the corner of my room. "Get in there and attempt to take a shower or treat yourself to a nice bath, I don't really care which. Try to get a comb through that mess on the top of your head or cut it all off, you look like a lunatic. After that your going to put on some nice _clean_ clothes. I'm sure you have a full wardrobe in here that hasn't seen the light of day since you've been back." He points to the clothes I have on now. "Give those to Sae, she'll burn 'em in the fireplace your so damn fond of."

"Now, when you're all clean and pretty, you're going to take your ass over to Peeta's house and you're going to talk to him." He notices my expression which is one of pure rage. "Ah ah ah," he says waving his fat finger in my face and a smug expression. "You're going to do all of those things because I'm politely asking you to. If I don't see you crossing that street to his house by 8 o' clock, I will come over here and drag you there myself, filthy hair and all."

My chest is heaving because I am so pissed off right now. If I were in the mood to talk I would be calling Haymitch every dirty name under the sun right now. Who did he think he was to tell me what to do?

He makes his way to the door but turns to face me again before he leaves. "Listen, Katniss, I know it's hard but just try to think about what he's going through." He points at me, then himself, then toward Peeta's house out through the window. "We are all we have. Unfortunately. We've all been through a lot, especially Peeta. And I'm not going to let you sit up here and become a psychotic mute while Peeta is over there alone. You both need each other more than you know. Don't be selfish. Don't abandon him again." With that, Haymitch finally left.

Again? When had I ever abandoned Peeta? It had been one of my only life missions of the past three years to keep him safe and alive. I had been literally ready to die for him.

After my first reaction, I remember. I abandoned him in District 13 when I fled to District 2 to help with taking over The Nut. I left mostly to get away from him or, should I say, Hijacked Peeta? Even when he was sent to help our squad, or should I say kill me, in the Capitol, I treated him like dirt. I was a horrible person. He deserved much better.

I moved my feet over the plush carpet toward the bathroom. I needed to get ready. I was going to visit Peeta.


	3. Unspoken

**Sorry, it's taken me a few days to get another chapter up. I want to submit a chapter at least every other day. I hope you like Chapter 3, it was really hard to write because I wanted it to have the right affect. Thank you for the reviews, alerts and favorites. I really appreciate it! Please let me know what you think and leave a review! **

I keep forgetting to write this but: **I do not own the Hunger Games. They are owned by Suzanne Collins. All characters, names and what-not are all her sweet creations. I just enjoy writing about them. :)**

It took me about an hour to scrub myself clean. I had no idea how much grime had settled on to my skin. All the soot from the fireplace and the ever-present coal dust had definitely wedged into every pore on my body. I showered as best as I could before directing my attention to the mop on my head.

There were so many knots and tangles that I really contemplated chopping it all of like Haymitch had mentioned. The areas that had gotten singed in the explosion had grown back in pretty well but hadn't quite caught up with the rest. The result reminded me of the people from the Capitol and there weird choices in hairstyles and fashion. I definitely didn't want to look in the mirror and be reminded of them everyday so maybe I should cut it all off.

I spent another hour detangling my hair under the stream of water in the shower. I didn't have much patience and ended up yanking a lot of the knots out. My head felt tender but clean by the time I could run my hands through it.

My hair dripped water on to the cool blue tiles in the bathroom as I stood naked in front of the mirror. I studied myself for the first time in months. I had definitely lost weight which was no surprise. I hadn't been this thin since I'd learned how to hunt. The skin graphs I'd gotten in the Capitol didn't blend well with my body since I hadn't taken proper care of them when I returned home. The doctors had sent medicines and balms for me to treat them but they still sat unopened in their original packages. The new skin still looked foreign on my body. I looked like a true mutt. I didn't know if there was any chance of them truly blending in since I'd neglected them for so long.

What was most foreign to me though was the look in my eyes. They were vacant and, I guess, sad. Not wanting to dwell on the reason they looked like that, I turned my attention back to my hair. It was, after all, the only thing I could actually do anything about.

Finally, I made a decision. I'd taken care of the knots but there was only one thing to do about the un-evenness. I grabbed the scissors from my medicine cabinet and stood in front of the mirror again. Gathering all of my hair in my hand, I made sure I held it at a decent length and cut. When I was done, my wavy hair hung right above my shoulder. It was a new look and it probably wouldn't make a decent braid but I liked it. For some strange reason it felt like a fresh start. I was older now and a completely different person than I was when I volunteered at the reaping. Even though it was just hair, I felt like I'd let go of a tiny part of me when I threw the old hair into the wastebasket. And that was exactly what I needed.

My time was running low so I used a hairdryer that my old prep team left for me when they were here to prepare me for the Victors Tour. I remember Flavius saying,"Now you have no excuse for limp hair." I smiled briefly at the memory before other more disturbing memories tried pushing there way into the front of my thoughts. I shook my head, once again pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind.

I put on a simple navy blue top and my favorite pair of cargo pants that I'd had for a long time. Cinna had designed a lot of casual clothes for me along with the clothes I wore on the Victors Tour since I didn't have much of a wardrobe before I became a Victor and I didn't really enjoy shopping. Even though they sat untouched in my dressers I didn't even glance at them. I could only imagine the memories that would come to the forefront if I actually held Cinna's creations in my hands. And I didn't have time to deal with that right now.

My simple outfit covered all of my scars pretty well. I looked in the full length mirror and my reflection resembled a normal girl minus the foreign look in my eyes of course. I took one last look and sighed. It was already 7:45 and I was sure Haymitch would live up to his promise. It was time to go.

The walk to Peeta's was too short. Granted he only lived right across the street but I wish he lived on the other side of town. I needed more time to think. How was I supposed to act? My breathing came rapidly and not just from the increased amount of physical activity that went on today. I was nervous. So nervous. Just thinking about the questions he would have and the things he'd want to talk about made my feet come to a halt.

"You've still got about 15 feet to go," a voice shouted.

I looked toward the direction of the voice and there was Haymitch, sitting on his porch holding a glass of dark liquid. After taking a swig he made a gesture that told me to keep moving.

Furious, I flicked him off and stomped the rest of the way to Peeta's front door. I took several deep breaths and rang the doorbell. _Let's get this over with_, I thought to myself. I tried to focus my thoughts on the fact that Peeta needed me. And a small part of me could admit that I needed him too.

The door opened slowly. I held my breath. Peeta was really here. I allowed myself to get a little excited about seeing him again. But what if Hijacked Peeta answers the door instead? What if I am the trigger that sets off the insane murderous attacker the Capitol embedded in him? I shook my head. I couldn't think that way. He needed me. Plus, I had my knife stowed away in the pocket of my cargo pants just in case. I took relief in the feeling of the cool handle pressing against my leg.

Finally, the door opened all of the way and there he stood right in front of me. Peeta. My Peeta. His beautiful blue eyes were wide with shock. We stood at the door just staring at each other. Taking each other in. His blonde curls were unruly. His face and clothes were smeared with various shades of paint. He'd obviously been painting. He looked so normal.

"Katniss," he sighed. "You came."

Haymitch must have told him that he'd convince me to come over. I nodded my head still lost in the ocean that was his eyes.

"I thought I scared you off the other day," Peeta mumbled. His hand still held a paintbrush that dripped green paint onto the floor. "I'm sorry I showed up like that. I should have warned you or something."

I shook my head at his statement and for the first time in months, I spoke," P-Peeta." My voice was hoarse from dis-use. For awhile now the only time I spoke was when I woke myself up screaming from nightmares.

He smiled gently. "It's me, Katniss," he said. "It's really me."

I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. His words lifted some of the tension from my body. I managed to actually smile. It felt so unnatural on my face. Unable to hold myself back any longer, I lunged myself at him, knocking him back a few steps, and into a tight embrace. The safety I felt in his arms was like nothing else in the world could bring. I felt my body relax. I wanted to hold onto him forever to make sure nothing or no one would take him away again.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. I forced myself to let go and stepped back into my previous position. Immediately I felt the cold air replace the warmth that was created by our bodies. I crossed my arms to block the air from taking away the welcome feeling.

Peeta's smile was bigger now. He stepped back and held the door open wider. "Would you like to come in? It's getting kind of chilly out there."

"Sure," I muttered. "I'd like that." I stepped over the threshold and over the green drops of paint and into Peeta's house.

It turns out that Greasy Sae delivers food to Peeta as well. He had a nice portion of vegetable soup stewing on the stove when we entered the kitchen. It looked just like I imagined his kitchen would look. There was flour everywhere coating every surface except the dining table. All of his bakers tools were scattered randomly about the room and some soaked in the sink. He'd obviously been busy at work because every pastry you could imagine lined the counters. Bread, cakes, danishes, doughnuts; you name it, it was here. All of them were presented in crystal clear glassware as if they were on display in a real bakery. The room smelled intoxicating. My tongue watered and my stomach growled looking at all of the delicious desserts.

Peeta walked into the kitchen and placed the paintbrush he'd been holding into a cup of water by the sink that already held a dozen others. He looked at me and noticed how I was looking at all of the baked goods. He smirked and looked around. "It's a little crazy huh?" he commented. "I spent all my life doing this for a living and now I can't stop. It's almost an obsession." He chuckled.

I shrugged. "Everything looks amazing, Peeta. Really." I didn't want him to think that I thought he was crazy for going a little overboard with baking. Hell, I was the one who'd been almost catatonic for the past three months. At least he was being proactive.

He gripped the counter behind him and leaned back into it. "I could never eat all of this. I was thinking about going down to Square and passing it out. I don't know how many people have come back to 12 but I'm sure they could use something to eat."

Smiling came naturally this time. This was definitely the Peeta I knew. Always thinking of others. "That would be really nice."

We held each others gaze for awhile before he hopped up to stir the soup. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

I was hungry. With all of the food and desserts surrounding me, it was hard to resist. "Yes, thank you."

"A big hearty helping of veggie soup coming right up," he exclaimed looking in the cabinets for a bowl.

"Actually," I said looking sheepishly at him. "I'd rather have some cake."

He smirked and put the bowl down. He seemed to be thinking of something and held up his finger. "You know what? I have something I made just for you." He turned to lift a tray out of the oven. Still steaming were about a dozen cheese buns. He placed them right in front of where I sat at the dining table.

My new found smile stretched from ear to ear. How long had it been since I'd had one of these? "You remembered," I said.

He looked at me with a serious expression. "Of course I did," he stated before turning toward the soup again.

I was baffled. How much did he remember? The last time we'd had a real conversation, he was still trying to decipher between the real and not real. Were all of his memories his again? I wanted to know the answers but I couldn't bring up such a dark conversation right now. Not when we were just starting to have a good time. But I knew that the conversation was inevitable.

Peeta placed a plate with various cakes next to the cheesebuns before returning with a bowl of soup. He sat down opposite me and began to eat. I silently analyzed him. He didn't have a scar on his body which wasn't surprising since he'd been in the Capitol for so long. I'm sure they gave him something to help heal his burns faster than normal. He was practically drinking the soup, he was eating so fast. But that was just like him. He always ate like that. If I didn't know any better I would say that he was the same Peeta I knew before the Quarter Quell; definitely shaken from the events of the 74th Hunger Games yet still strong and sure of who he was. But I knew Peeta and I could see the way he held his spoon a little to tightly, causing his knuckles to turn red. I could see how fidgety he was, as if he needed to constantly be in movement. His knee, on his good leg, bounced quickly up and down and his finger tapped a rhythm on the side of the bowl. And even though he acted nonchalant and relaxed, I could see under the current of his ocean eyes that he was suffering. It was like he was fighting to control himself but his body refused to cooperate.

It broke my heart to realize this. I hated to see him in pain. I hated that he had to hide it from me most of all but wasn't I doing the same thing to him? I came over here with my new hairstyle and a smile on my face like everything has been okay for the last three months. I wondered if he could see through my facade. He knew me just as well as I knew him after all. So, why was he playing along with my weak attempt at normalcy?

The cheesebuns had cooled off a little bit so I reached for one and took a bite. The taste was still as divine as I remembered. For some reason, this made me think of all of the things the old Capitol tried to take away from Peeta by injecting him with the Hijacker venom. They tried to take away his identity but every pastry in the kitchen was proof that he was still the boy with the bread. They tried to take away his kind heart but it was still there. He showed it by caring about the possible starving people in our district and planting the Primrose bushes for me. They tried to take him away from me; to make him hate me. But he was here, making my favorite bread and caring enough to fake a normal conversation just so I wouldn't be uncomfortable.

I decided then that I wouldn't let them take anything else from him. He was still suffering and he needed something. What? I don't know. But whether it be shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen, I was going to be that for him. He'd always put my needs before his own and now it was time for me to repay the favor.

He was scooping the last of his soup onto a roll. I put the remainder of my bread down and said," Peeta?"

He looked up at me, questioningly. "You decided you want some soup?"

I shook my head. "No. I just... I wanted to ask you something."

He eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Was it fear I saw in his eyes? "Shoot."

I sighed and looked him square in the eye. "Are you okay?" I asked in a gentle voice. I wanted him to know I was asking a serious question and I wanted a serious answer.

He sat up straight and I could see him take in a deep breath. He exhaled and looked down at his lap. His whole body seemed to slump forward. From his reaction alone I knew his answer.


	4. Pretending

**I am so sorry for taking so long to upload a new chapter. I've been so busy and it seems like the rest of this month will be the same way. I know I promised a new chapter every other day and I will still try to do that but the keyword is 'try'. Since it's been so long since the last chapter I'll try to post another tomorrow after I get my homework done. ****Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and alerts. They mean a lot to me. Please remember to review! **

**This is a short chapter because I wanted to make sure I got something up for you guys/gals before I went to bed. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. **

Peeta sat with his head down. He still held the dinner roll in his hand that was dripping with the remainder of his soup. It looked like he had shut down. As if he were a machine and he had flipped his off switch. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassured me that he was still with me.

I waited awhile for him to answer me and to give him some time to think. After what felt like forever, I decided to take the lead in getting this conversation started. I reached over the table and touched his wrist to get his attention. "Peeta?" I asked gently.

He jerked a little at my touch. He released the bread and placed his hands in his lap. Finally, he looked up at me. "Katniss... I..." he stuttered.

Interrupting him, I said, "Peeta, we don't have to pretend anymore. Not with each other."

He looked at me questioningly. "We don't?"

I shook my head. "The games are over," I said. "The war is over. For years we had to pretend to be something we aren't. We had to pretend to be vicious murderers. We had to pretend to be a couple." I knew I probably shouldn't have said that last line. For him it wasn't always pretending, after all. It wasn't for me either... But he and I both know the romantic relationship we had was mostly made up for the Capitol's enjoyment. And to save our lives.

I continued. "And we had to pretend to be soldiers. In the end, I guess we did turn into soldiers and murderers but that doesn't define us. That's not who we are."

Peeta stared over my shoulder with a blank expression. I began to think he hadn't heard a word I said when he spoke up. "Then who are we, Katniss?"

That was a tough question. One I had been struggling to answer myself over the past three months. I definitely wasn't the same girl who had volunteered at the reaping. I shrugged. "I don't know," I said simply. "But now we can be whoever we want to be. The old Capitol is gone. We don't have to put on a show anymore."

Peeta still stared into the nothingness over my shoulder. He wore a blank expression that absolutely frightened me. It was normally so easy to read him. His eyes would give away his simplest thoughts. They were bright and sparkling when he was happy and dark and cloudy when he was angry. Right now, though, they gave away nothing. I'd seen this expression before and the result of it was someone who didn't like me very much.

He ran a hand through his hair. His unruly hair bounced right back into the same crazy angles. "You know what, I like pretending," he muttered with a small smile on his face. He looked me dead in the eyes. "Maybe it's due to the years of acting with you and entertaining the Capitol but pretending makes life so much easier. I can put up this emotional wall and if I'm good enough at playing the game, I can even trick myself into believing that everything is okay."

I'm holding my breath, trying my hardest not to cry. It seems that Peeta and I have taken different routes in dealing with our pain. Everyone that has come in contact with me knows that I'm mentally unstable and depressed; unable to deal with the aftermath of the rebellion that took so much away from me. Peeta, on the other hand, chooses to pretend like everything is fine. He smiles, jokes and laughs. Just like he did when I first got to his house. From the outside looking in, he seems to be handling everything better than the rest of us Victors. But the people who really know him, know that it's an act and I can only imagine the emotional state that he's in when he suppresses so much. I thought I was in bad condition but at least I accept the fact that my life is in shambles.

Peeta has gotten up from his seat at the kitchen table and now paces back and forth. He runs his hands through his hair, his eyes dart around the room; he's losing control. "I like pretending that the last year and a half didn't happen. I like pretending that we won the 74th games and the Quell never happened; I was never in that arena to watch more innocent people die for nothing. In my mind the rebels never came so I was never left in the arena and picked up by the Capitol hovercraft. I didn't have to sit in that dark, smelly cell and listen to countless people get tortured until they begged for death."

He stops pacing and looks down at the floor. He can see the tears pooling in his eyes now and the pained expression on his face. My heart aches for him and tears flow down my cheeks but I don't care enough to wipe them away.

Before I can find the right words to say to him, to comfort him, he goes on. "And when I pretend, when I act like none of that stuff happened, I can believe that I wasn't dragged out of that cell everyday into a bright white room with hot spotlights and a cool metal exam table. I wasn't tortured for answers to questions I didn't know the first clue about. I wasn't starved or treated like an animal. They didn't show me pictures and videos and lie to me as they injected me with a Hijacker venom that felt like fire running through my veins. It didn't feel like eternity. I didn't beg them to kill me."

I want to beg him to stop. My crying has gotten out of control now. I probably look like a blubbering idiot with tears soaking my face and shirt and my nose running. I reach for a napkin on the center of the table and try to clean myself up a little. When he does look at me, I don't want him to see how pathetic I am.

He looks up at me just as I blow my nose. I can barely look him in the eyes. I don't know what to say. How do you comfort someone who has been through so much?

His eyes are red and swollen. I mentally slap myself for bringing up such painful memories for him. I've been hiding from my memories all this time and the first thing I do when I see him is make him relive his worst nightmare. What kind of person am I?

"That's why I like to put on this facade," he explains so more before plopping back down into his empty seat. He places his elbows on the table and grabs his hair in both hands. He's grabbing it so hard, I'm surprised he doesn't rip it out. "I keep thinking that if I pretend long enough, I'll forget it all happened. Maybe I can trick my mind forever and not just until the nightmares come at night."  
He looks up at me with a pleading expression. Again, I don't know what to say. I feel so helpless. I'm the one who decided to have this conversation with him and I'm at a loss for words. For the first time ever, I wish Haymitch was here with us. He'd know what to say to make Peeta feel better and to calm him down. I was never very good with words.

I thought that if he told me what he was really going through we'd be able to talk through it together. I should have known better. Our problems aren't those of any normal teenager.

"The rebellion happened though, Katniss," he says. "Real or not real?"

He immediately has my full attention. The real or not real game is something I made up in order to help him overcome his Hijacker symptoms. Why was he asking me this now?

"What?" I ask.

"Sometimes, I still lose my grip on reality," he says calmly. "I forgot to mention that pretending also helps me to focus on something other than the negative thoughts that will always swarm around in my head thanks to the Hijacker venom."

"Always?" I mutter. I can feel my body shaking.

He nods. His eyes have that far away look again before they take on a dark tint and his expression changes into something that makes me push my chair back several inches. It's an expression I'm all to familiar with. He's wore it on several occasions. Every time he's tried to kill me.


	5. Real or Not Real

**Hello! This has been my longest chapter yet. It just took a lot of words to get the right feelings and actions across. I really hope you like it. Please don't forget to review! Thank you so much to those who have. They really mean a lot.**

Peeta stares at me; still with that blank, angry, scary look. He doesn't say anything more.

I instantly reach for the blade in the pocket of my cargo pants but I don't pull it out. Feeling it there is enough to comfort me. He hasn't made a move yet. Maybe I had misinterpreted the look. He hadn't sprung for my neck yet which seemed to be Hijacked Peeta's favorite thing to do. I watched him silently stare at me; his dark eyes seeming to penetrate into my very soul. What was he thinking?

I decided to speak up. Maybe I could bring him back to me. "Peeta?" I said gently.

A smile creeped on to his face. He let his head fall back so that he was staring at the ceiling. "You should probably go now, Katniss," he spoke in a voice deeper than his own.

I nodded. "Yeah," I stammered as I slowly stood up from the chair. "I'll go but I'll be back soon. Okay?"

He continued to stare up at the ceiling without responding. It was probably best for me to remove myself from his presence. I'd obviously triggered his alternate personality. A personality I wish had went away with the rebellion. Damn me for bringing up such bad memories when he'd figured out a way to keep the symptoms of the venom at bay.

I was almost to the kitchens entrance when he spoke again. "Where do you think you're going?" he said in a voice so low it shook my insides.

I turned back toward him so that I would be prepared for whatever was about to happen. This wasn't my Peeta. I continued to back toward the door. "Home, like you told me to," I said calmly.

He stood up faster than I thought was humanly possible. He slammed his fists on the table causing the remainder of the cakes to leap off of the plate. I stood in complete shock. My mind was telling me to run but my body had shut down in complete fear.

"I thought I could trust you!" he shouted looking at me with pure hate in his eyes. He ran his hands roughly up and down his face causing thin lines to bleed from where his nails had dug into his skin. He turned away from me and made some inaudible noises that sounded like he was arguing with himself. He was trying to fight this off.

Knowing that my Peeta was still in there, I knew that I couldn't leave. Now was the perfect time to get out of here but I couldn't leave him to suffer on his own. He would never do that to me. "Peeta, you have to fight it. What you're feeling right now, is not real," I said.

His head quickly turned to face me. The same evil look flooding his features. "I'm sorry, Katniss," he said sweetly, hanging his head. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I was so confused at this point. He was talking to me sweetly but the look in his eyes still scared me. Was he coming down already? Had he gotten over it that quickly? I didn't know the first thing about how he'd learned to deal with his episodes. I grasped the door frame behind me to keep me steady. Right now I was just playing it by ear.

"I just... I don't know how to deal with all this," he muttered. "I didn't want our first encounter to come to this. I thought I could hold it together."

He looked so beaten that I let out the breath I'd been holding. I told myself that I'd be here for him and that meant accepting him for everything he was now. "Peeta, it's okay," I said soothingly, letting go of my grip on the door frame and taking a shaky step back into the kitchen. "I understand."

Peeta looked up at me, his eyes pooling in tears. "You know, all I've wanted this whole time you've been here, is for you to hold me."

Without a thought I reach my hand out toward him, letting him know that my arms are always open to him. Slowly, he makes his way around the kitchen table and toward me. My heart is hammering in my chest but I don't falter. I need him to know that I'm here for him, no matter what.

He's just feet away from him and I'm staring at his face trying to analyze him. He's definitely saddened by the way he's acted but there's something else about him that makes the hairs stand at the back of my neck. It's when he's only inches away do I realize that I've been played. That evil smile creeps back onto his face as he reaches for my jugular. His hands move so quickly that I don't have anytime to react. Both of his hands wrap around my neck and block my air path.

I'm trying to talk but to no avail. He smiles down at me as I stare into his once beautiful eyes. This can't be happening. All of this was supposed to be past us.

"You stupid little conniving bitch," he sneers, squeezing my neck harder with every word. "Did you really think that you could trick me into believing you weren't a mutt. You were planning to kill me weren't you?"

Tears run in streams down my face as I try unsuccessfully to pry his hands away. "Oh, you're crying now?" he says with a sarcastic look of worry. "I wonder how much my family cried when you killed them."

My head is starting to feel dizzy from the lack of air and I know I don't have much time before I pass out. Finally, I grasp my droopy mind around an idea to get myself out of this situation. I lift my boot clad foot and ram it into his crotch area hoping I managed to hit his weak spot. He winces in pain but doesn't loose his grip on me. Instead, he pulls me up higher in the air and tosses me, like a rag doll, into the counter. My left side violently hits the edge of the counter and my arms flail about trying to grasp onto anything that will keep me upright. It's of no use, I go tumbling to the ground along with several glass dishes filled with pretty baked treats. As I hit the floor, they smash around me.

"Now, you want to ruin my kitchen?" he asks sarcastically, advancing on me again.

I haven't had enough time to catch my breath or even think about the damage done to my side by that fierce meeting with the counter so I only manage to scoot backward in a weak attempt to escape him. My hands are screaming in pain as the broken glass rips open my palms. I'm leaving bloody tracks on the floor as I scoot toward the opposite wall. Peeta walks toward me slowly with a smirk on his face. He knows I'm not going anywhere. My breathing is heavy and my side aches, there will definitely be some bruising. If I manage to get out of this, that is. Peeta grabs me by the neck again, he seems to have a fascination with it, and hauls me to my feet. He roughly tosses me against the wall and begins lifting me in the air by my neck. I know I won't survive long this time. I'd barely had anytime to get any oxygen into my lungs after the last encounter.

Through my distress, I finally remember the knife in my pocket. I take my hands off of his and desperately stretch my hand down toward my cargo pocket that is located by my knee. He doesn't take notice to my efforts. He's too busy commenting on how good it's going to feel to slowly kill me. I grasp the cool metal handle; making sure I have a firm grip. I take a quick glance at the man trying to kill me and remind myself that this is not Peeta. I silently apologize to the real Peeta who is lost inside of this maniac and tear a vicious slice into his right arm.

Immediately I fall to the floor as Peeta screams out in pain. His blood has splattered all over the floor, the counters and me. I gulp down air as ,if it was water, desperately trying to refresh my empty lungs. I know I don't have much time though. Peeta has dealt with a lot worse when it comes to knife wounds.

I slowly manage to get to my feet with the help of the handle on the oven. The world is spinning but I'm determined to make it out of the front door. Once I'm outside I can call for Haymitch. He's my best bet for help as long as he hasn't passed out on the front porch. Peeta is still writhing in pain on the kitchen floor. I can't be here whenever he decides to get up.

With the help of the counters and the walls I make my way out of the kitchen. My head is pounding and my side aches with every breath I take. I don't look back to see where Peeta is, I only look forward. My eyes on the front door which is only ten feet away now.

Just as my hand touches the doorknob I feel him behind me and I mean right behind him. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, he's so close. How had he move so silently? Peeta was never able to guide his steps so smoothly. Especially after he got the artificial leg.

My whole body stiffens as he whispers directly into my ear. "Did you really think you could get away that easily?" He brought his hand up to touch my hair. He gently moved it back so that it was out of his way. "Don't you know that my only goal in life is to end yours? I want to make you pay for all the damage you've done; the lives you've ruined."

I can't stand to listen to anymore so I whip around to face him. I duck my head to miss the fist he throws at my jaw and shuffle a few steps to the left so that my back isn't to the door anymore. I raise up the knife I still hold in my hands so that he can see it. It's shaking slightly but hopefully he doesn't notice. I didn't want it to come to this. I don't want to hurt Peeta anymore than I already have.

It's obvious that Peeta, even Hijacked Peeta, knows that I don't really want to hurt him. He knows I would rather escape to my house in hopes that my absence would bring the real Peeta back. Instead of cowering at the sight of the knife, he takes slow steps toward me.

"What are you going to do now?" he asks, his dark eyes seeming to glow in the moonlight bathing the foyer. "Kill me?" He smirks.

I'm trying to steady my grip on the knife, which is quickly becoming slippery with my blood, while I slowly back away from his advances. This is a nightmare. I don't want to hurt Peeta and I definitely don't' want to kill him. Maybe I should save us both some trouble and just let him kill me. It seems that he would enjoy it. And isn't it just what I've been asking for all these months? For my life to end? Well, it seems that I'm staring at the answer to my problem. I am all of those things he's called me, after all. No, I didn't personally kill his family but I was responsible for the bombing that hit District 12 and so many other deaths.

I shake my head. No, Peeta wouldn't want that. He wouldn't want to be responsible for killing me. Not the real Peeta anyway and I know he is somewhere lost inside his mind. He will eventually get over this episode and I don't want him to wake up and realize he's killed me. There's no telling what he'd do to himself then. It would be a selfish way out for me. Peeta and I both know how it feels to have murdered someone. I don't want to add to his list of nightmares.

My back has hit yet another wall and I'm trapped. I raise the knife so that it's at his eye level. "Peeta, stop it!" I scream. My voice is muffled and crackly from all the crying I've been doing. My nose is running and tears flow freely, stinging my face. "It's me, Katniss. You have to come back to me right now. You're just having an episode. Don't do anything that you'll regret."

"You're the one holding the knife," he sneers. "Now you can do what you've always wanted to do. You don't have anymore use for me, right? Kill me."

"You know I can't kill you, Peeta," I cry. "You know." Somewhere inside of him I know he knows that I would never hurt him. That I've always wanted to protect him. If I wanted to kill him I would have done a lot more than slice him on the arm.

"Kill me!" he shouts, making me jump. Just then I see the look in his eyes change. His normally bright blues peak out from the darkness and I realize the pleading expression in them. There's my Peeta, trying to come back. "Kill me. Please," he whispers before the darkness takes over again.

Fresh tears join the ones already streaming down my face. Peeta is fighting to get out and begging me to end his life. I wish I could take away his pain but this is not the way. "I can't," I say. "I'm sorry." I drop the knife from my shaky hands.

"You're dumber than I thought," Peeta mutters. He bends down to retrieve the knife and within seconds he has me by the hair. He tilts my head back so that he can have easier access to my neck. "I wish you put up a little more resistance though. That would make it so much more fun. Just like in the Games."

I don't do anything. I just wait for him to end my life. There's nothing more that I can do. I do say one last thing as he brings the blade up to my neck. I can feel the cool metal press against me. "You are not a piece in their Games, Peeta. Remember that."

He blinks rapidly and I feel the blade being withdrawn. It drops to the floor and he releases his hold on my hair. He takes a few steps back; grunting and breathing heavily. He grips his hair the same way he had in the kitchen before all of this started. I'm quietly stepping toward the door, ready to make a run for Haymitch's house when I hear him collapse onto the floor. I turn around and see that he's curled up in a fetal position, still clutching his head but his breathing has slowed. I look toward the door; my escape and then back at Peeta. Any logical person would make a run for it but that's never been a trait I've been known for.

I step lightly toward Peeta's curled up form. The house looks like a battlefield with all of the blood smeared and splattered over the floors and walls. I don't know if he's passed out or not. I bend down and touch his arm, ignoring the pain in my side. He jerks at the touch and I step back out of his reach. I see him peak out in between his arms and turn away.

"Katniss, please just go," he says, quietly.

A weight feels like it's been lifted from my chest. There is no way I could have missed those bright sea blue eyes peaking out at me. Peeta was back. But he needed help and I wasn't sufficient enough to take care of him right now. It was probably best if I left him alone for awhile.

I stood up. "Okay, I'll go but I'll be back soon," I say, repeating the same words I'd used earlier before all of this started. I quickly make my way to the front door, for the third time this evening, and open it. Just before I shut the door behind me, I hear him say," I'm sorry."


End file.
